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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24091468">Dusk</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale), honeymustard - Freeform, i fully intend to write this story and make it Good, my first attempt at a real story, the skeletons do be kinda gay doe, woot woot!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:35:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,871</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24091468</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently, all it takes to permanently change the course of your life are several drinks, magic, and being an asshole. </p><p>Sans didn't know this beforehand, but it's safe to say he's learned it now.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Papyrus/Sans (Undertale)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The last thing Sans clearly remembers is leaving the bar. He'd been ignoring his buzzing phone all night, choosing instead to sink eight glasses of fiery whiskey and stumble out the door, muttering for the cost to be put on his tab.</p><p>The air had been colder that night, and he had drawn the hood of his thick coat up and over his skull, nuzzling into the fur lining. His brother would be beyond pissed that he stayed out late again. No doubt about it.</p><p>And at that moment, he decided <em> nah, it'd be faster if I took a shortcut.</em></p><p>Then…darkness.</p><p>Sans is vaguely aware that he's cold, even though he's still got that heavy black jacket zipped up to his throat. It's seeping into his bones, an uncomfortable feeling that drives him to sit up.</p><p>Huh. He was face down in the snow. That explains the chill.</p><p>He probably fucked up the shortcut, winding up a ways away from the house instead of on the doorstep, then passing out. Alcohol tends to do that to his magic, making it harder to get a grip of. </p><p>So he hauls himself to his feet, noting the killer headache he's got almost immediately. <em> Remind me to never go on a bender again, </em>he thinks grimly. </p><p>But the question remains. Where is he? </p><p>Looking around, Sans finds that he's not too sure. The trees stand tall and dark over him, invoking a vague claustrophobia somewhere in his subconscious. So, he'll walk out of the forest. Not a difficult feat, considering he knows it like the back of his hand. </p><p>His boots crunch through the snow as he slinks out of the cover of the trees, his house already in sight. Papyrus will be out of his goddamn mind with worry, and Sans is sure he'll have to sit through a lecture about why he's the sorriest excuse for a responsible adult there ever was. </p><p>But he hesitates, taking a better look at the building. It's shaped like his house, has the same porch and the same walls and everything, but it's not his house. </p><p>The place he calls home is a lot shabbier, and darker because the porch's lightbulb went out and he forgot to replace it. There's certainly no flower pot beside the door either, containing what looks like peonies.</p><p>Either Papyrus redecorated in the worst way possible, or this is some stranger's house he's about to walk into. </p><p>Both options are equally farfetched, especially as Sans makes his way up the porch steps, as he's done every day of his life. It looks the same as his house, so it must be his. Only issue is the decor, and the fact that this one looks better maintained. There aren't even any claw marks in the wood paneled walls. </p><p>Still, whether out of the suspicion that this isn't his house or the fear of startling his already irate brother, he knocks on the door. He steps back, noting the doormat that he definitely does not own. </p><p>The door swings open, revealing his reflection.</p><p>No, scratch that. Sans doesn't look like this guy at all, aside from their similar bone structure. Even then, he's still got a few inches over his double, and is broader in the shoulders and chest than blue-eyes over here is. </p><p><em> Blue. </em>That's the part that confuses him, because Sans's magic is decidedly red. A bright, bloody, intimidating red. By a jarring contrast, the lights in the not-Sans's eyes are sky blue and shrunken in confusion. </p><p>"Hi?" the doppelganger says, after they've both spent a good five seconds going through the whole <em> you're me? You can't be me, we don't look alike, but we do. How are you me? </em> thought process. His voice has a slight lilt to it, turning the greeting into a question. Add that to the fact that his voice is higher, smoother, <em>calmer...</em></p><p>Sans does <em>not </em>like that.</p><p>He feels a fresh stab of pain in his skull, his hangover demanding itself to be noticed.</p><p>He hisses a curse under his breath, and before he knows it, the blue double is propping him up and leading him inside. </p><p>"Who is it?" asks another voice, familiar but completely different at once. All of this is fucking with his head <em> so bad. </em></p><p>"Me, I think. I'm not sure, really. Gimme a hand, he's heavier than he looks." Blue-eyes settles him onto a couch, looking into his eye sockets like the secret to life's hiding in there somewhere. </p><p>Idle footsteps approach, and Sans sees another copy come into view. It has to be the not-Sans's brother, because he looks like Papyrus. Except for the teeny, tiny fact that Papyrus, the <em> real </em> one, doesn't look like him at all. </p><p>Papyrus doesn't smoke. Papyrus doesn't wear orange, and Papyrus wouldn't ever wear a hoodie.</p><p>Sans leans away from them, creeped out beyond belief that these people could maybe, just maybe be copies of himself and his brother. <em> What the fuck, what the fuck, </em> <b> <em>what the fuck?</em></b></p><p>
  <em> Easy, Sans, easy. Reel it in, take it down a notch. Calm the hell down. </em>
</p><p>"Something wrong?" asks the unfamiliar Papyrus, tilting his head. Smoke from his cigarette seeps out of his nasal cavity, leaving a greying trail every time he moves. "You don't look too good." </p><p>Sans grits his teeth against his <em> fuckin' hangover, stars above, it hurts like a bitch. </em></p><p>"Yeah, dumbass, somethin' <em> is </em> wrong," he informs his brother's doppelganger. "Everything's wrong. This ain't my house, you two look like me n' my brother, and I got no fuckin' idea why."</p><p>Not-Sans looks unnerved by this admission, the lower lid of his eye socket twitching with every swear Sans drops. "Papy was just trying to help," he says after a long moment, drawing his already perfect posture up even straighter. "And this isn't your house, obviously. I don't even know who you are." </p><p><em> Papy. </em> A nickname only Sans uses for his brother, a childhood name that nobody outside of his family should know. It only adds to the unease boiling in his gut, the dark, sinking feeling that <em> this isn't right. </em></p><p>The passive-aggressive stare blue-eyes fixes him with burns, like a magnifying glass over an ant. </p><p>"I'm Sans," he says curtly. "<em>You </em>aren't Sans, though." </p><p>His double crosses his arms ready to speak until his brother, who had been zoning out for a while now, frowns in clear confusion and states the obvious first.</p><p>"Uh, hate to break it to you, man, but you definitely aren't my brother," says the orange ashtray. As if Sans didn't know it. </p><p>His own brother is <em> nothing </em>like this guy, too lanky for his own good and smelling like the weed he probably smoked earlier. Either that, or the smell just hangs around him like a cloud. How not-Sans doesn't realize it is baffling. </p><p>"<em>I</em> <em>know</em>," Sans shoots back, a venomous edge to his voice. His mouth lifts in a derogatory sneer, fangs clicking as he speaks. "Look, I'll be honest with both a' you. I'm hungover as shit, I took a wrong turn headin' home and I really don't wanna be here, so I'll let myself out. Cool? Cool." </p><p>As he gets up to leave, two blue gloved hands put him right back where he was. </p><p>Now, that really pisses him off. Who does this guy think he is, not letting him even get off the couch? Anger quickly gives way to suspicion, nagging at the back of his mind, and he wonders if he'll ever get out of whatever hell he was unfortunate enough to stumble into.</p><p>What if they don't let him go? What if they want to keep him, to...okay, Sans doesn't know what they want from him, but he sure as hell isn't gonna stick around to find out.</p><p>Fully panicked now, he takes a shortcut, disappearing in a snap of red magic. His destination is clear as day: <em> home. </em>Home, where Papyrus has probably paced a rut into the floor, and where he can finally relax and put this whole incident behind him. Home, where the floor's scuffed wood instead of the green carpet, and where the wallpaper peels in the corner above the doorway. </p><p>Home, where shit actually makes sense.</p><p>Home might've been where he wanted to go, but he ends up standing on the same porch of the house he just left. It's not where he needs to be, not at all, and Sans is <em> freaking the fuck out. </em></p><p>The front door swings open, and the other Sans looks at him in complete bewilderment. </p><p>"You can do that?" he asks, surprise evident on his face. <em> His </em>face, damn it, not this copy's face. "I can't, but Papyrus can. If you wanted to go home, though, maybe back on the porch wasn't the best place to start." </p><p>Well, no shit! Sans is desperate to get home, so incredibly panicked he can feel the worry like a living thing behind his ribs, trying to claw its way out of him. He tried, <em> fuck,</em> he really did try, and it didn't work.</p><p>The other Papyrus saunters up behind his brother, cigarette still between his teeth. "Think maybe you should take it easy for a minute," he advises, stepping aside when his brother leads Sans inside. This time, Sans doesn't fight it. He's not happy about it, obviously, but he's <em> exhausted. </em>All he wants to do is flop facedown into his bed and sleep the day and his hangover away. </p><p>Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to be what this universe has in store for him. This pair seems intent on keeping him here and playing <em> 20 questions </em>until they figure out what the hell's going on. </p><p>All he can do is nod and mutter one-word replies when blue-eyes leads him inside, directs him down the hall to a bed and gestures for him to rest.</p><p>"For the time being, you can stay here, alright?" asks his copy. It's not really a question that requires an answer, but Sans finds his dumb ass nodding in response anyway. Because why wouldn't he? He's never been averse to a little shuteye.</p><p>Sans collapses into the bed without any further persuasion. His doppelganger turns on his booted heel, a satisfied grin on his face while Sans crawls under the warm covers, curling up around himself.</p><p>If the smell of smoke is any indication, this isn't his perfect little double's room. It's got to be the ashtray's. Especially when he looks at the mess of clothes and junk all over the floor. Hell, if he tries, he can imagine it as his own room back home. It's just as messy, if not worse, than this one.</p><p>But a bed is a bed, no matter whose it is. And after presumably spending a good chunk of last night in the snow, Sans welcomes its comfort. He actually sighs when he sinks into it, closing his weary eye sockets. He's out like a light before blue-eyes, who's been watching him get comfortable, can even shut the door.</p><p>His slumber is deep, dark and dreamless.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(woah writing is hard-)</p><p>but yay, first chapter!! i am trying so hard to keep everyone in character- </p><p>comments and criticism are appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's past ten when Sans finally decides to drag himself out of the bed. A quarter past, if he's gonna be precise.</p><p>The time doesn't bother him very much at all, seeing as his sleep schedule is already pretty fucked as is. He's not very good at sleeping when he's supposed to be, something that annoys Papyrus to no end.</p><p>He winces at the mere thought of his brother. Sans is really, really not ready to consider the possibilities of what's going on at home right now. It's doubtful he ever will be ready. All he can do is wonder, trying his hardest to shove the anxiety back into a smaller, more manageable shape.</p><p>It's a lot easier, and less emotionally taxing, to focus on the things he can control. Like the hunger currently growling in his metaphorical stomach, urging him into the kitchen for something to eat. Anything would do, really. He's not picky.</p><p>So Sans finally pulls the bedroom door open, only to be met with a very familiar face, hand frozen in midair above the doorknob.</p><p>The other Papyrus is standing there, looking more than a little surprised. "Hey, man. I was just comin' in to check on you, actually." He retracts his hand, stuffing it into the pocket of that orange hoodie with his other one. "You've been out for a while."</p><p>"Huh. Alright." After taking a moment to wonder just how long 'a while' is, Sans adds, "Hey, listen, I'm starving. You got anything to eat?" Maybe a cigarette, too, as the pack he had when he left for Grillby's isn't in his pocket anymore. He's not really a smoker, so it's still half full after a week or so, but whatever. It helps sometimes.</p><p>"Sure. Sans put some leftovers from dinner in the fridge, so you could just heat those up. It's some kind of pasta." He leans away from the doorway, opening up a space for Sans to slip through. It's not like he had to lean far, being the tall, lanky sonuvabitch he is, but it's the thought that counts.</p><p>Sans is already out of the hallway, not exactly eager at the thought of letting someone follow him. Something about having eyes on his back is unsettling.</p><p>Luckily for him, this Papyrus takes his time, leisurely footsteps a good six feet behind him. As he walks, he hums a snippet of a song to fill the silence.</p><p>Entering the kitchen like it's his own, Sans makes a beeline for the fridge, opening it and studying the contents. It's surprisingly well stocked, something he's not exactly used to seeing. He's vaguely aware that Papyrus's clone has moved to stand beside him, peering into the fridge as well. "Never seen a fridge before or somethin'? " he jokes, making Sans jump.</p><p>He covers his surprise well, clearing his throat and taking the container of pasta out of the fridge. This Papyrus most likely didn't even notice that little slip-up. If he just plays it off, it'll be fine.</p><p>"This one, right?" he asks, changing the subject. Without waiting for an answer, he lifts the lid to check his own question. It's pasta, all right, but it could be from another night. Never hurts to double check, as they say.</p><p>"Yep." The ashtray motions towards a microwave, and Sans takes over from there. He's watching the food rotate within the little box when he hears yet another attempt at conversation.</p><p>"So, what should I call you? Can't have two Sanses running around, obviously." The other Papyrus is leaning against the opposite counter, opening a drawer and rifling around in its contents. Silverware, judging by the clinking metal. "Any nicknames you go by?"</p><p>The microwave beeps, and Sans opens it, hissing as the hot container burns his fingertips. Plunking it down on the counter, he shakes his head. "Nope. I'm assuming you don't go by any, either, do you?"</p><p>"Nah. Yours has gotta be something easy to remember, though." After a moment's silence, one slender finger tapping at his jawbone, he shrugs. "Red?"</p><p>Sans scoffs, crossing his arms. "Come on, man, you can do better than that."</p><p>Papyrus's doppelganger huffs. "It's not easy picking a masculine name for red, you know."</p><p>That's true. Sans is no English major, but the synonyms he knows of tend to err on the girlier side. Things like "Cherry" and "Scarlet" and-</p><p>"Jasper?"</p><p><em>Jasper</em>. He kinda likes that, actually. It's not explicitly a variant of red, and he could even shorten it if he wanted. "Huh. Alright, Jasper it is, then." That was easy enough.</p><p>The other Papyrus grins mildly. "Glad you like it. What about mine, though? It'd be weird if you were the only one with a nickname."</p><p>He makes a point, and so the newly christened Jasper begins to think. Should he go for magic color? Because the only other names for orange he can think of are food-related. Maybe something like a physical characteristic. Playing off his height or something like that. But no, that's not right.</p><p>And besides, he really likes the name Jasper. It'd be kinda shitty if he gave this guy a sucky name.</p><p>"Hm. Maybe...Ash?" Good, that's good. He smokes, obviously, so Jasper took the idea and ran with it. Cigarettes, fire, smoke, ash. He decides to leave out the fact that it's short for 'ashtray', which is probably for the best. No need to insult someone for the sake of a name.</p><p>"<em>Ash</em>…" The other Papyrus rolls the word around, testing it out. When a grin lifts his face, Jasper sighs, relieved. "I like it. I was expecting a color, but you got creative." He tilts his head, still smiling serenely.</p><p>It's only then that Jasper realizes his food is still on the counter, probably cold by now.</p><p><em>Damn it</em>.</p><p>When he turns to check, he feels a tap on his shoulder. He jolts for the second time tonight, before realizing what's being offered to him is a fork. Offered wordlessly by Ash, who doesn't seem to realize how quiet he is sometimes. Literally silent, inadvertently sneaking up on him.</p><p>Taking the utensil, Jasper mutters his thanks.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>so i gave two out of three of the boys their names! i didn't want to stick with the usual "red" and "stretch", so i went through about a hundred different websites, posts, etc., until i came up with jasper and ash.</p><p>this is mostly a filler chapter, because i felt like i needed some interaction between the characters lol. i never know if i'm going too fast with stories-</p><p>as always, comments and criticism are appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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